


Cakes & Ale

by Mira



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-10
Updated: 2006-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-19 15:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira/pseuds/Mira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Rodney, are you trying to seduce me?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cakes & Ale

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by the [Empress Wu](http://empress_wu.livejournal.com) and the [Princessofg](http://princessofg.livejournal.com).

"Oh, wow, there's _jam_ in the middle." Rodney's lashes fluttered in near ecstasy. "So fucking good," he moaned.

"Jesus, McKay," John said. "Not in front of the children."

"Oh, oh, you try one and see if you don't go all big O."

"Big O?" Teyla asked, looking doubtfully at the small cakes Rodney was eating.

John looked at Rodney, who shrugged. "Mouf's fuww," he said, pointing at his jammy face. John rolled his eyes.

"Another time, Teyla, if you don't mind. I'd prefer you ask Elizabeth anyway." John slapped Rodney's hand, hard, when he reached for another little cake.

"Ow!"

"That's enough." John tried to look forbidding, or at least mean, but not too mean since he was also trying to charm their hosts. "They are delicious," he told the baker, called Baker, because they were really good.

"Thank you," Baker said, bowing slightly. "I would be happy to pack some up for you to take with you."

"Yes, please, that would be wonderful," Rodney said, rubbing his hands together. "Really wonderful."

"Yes, it would," John agreed, smiling at Baker. "Thank you."

"And in return?" Baker's wife asked, crossing her arms and looking at Teyla.

"We offer you assistance with sowing and reaping the crops," Teyla said, "in exchange for a percentage of the grain." Mrs. Baker looked at Rodney skeptically. "We have many who can help," Teyla added.

"We will discuss this further. Please return in three suns."

John stood up; that was a clear as dismissal as he'd ever received. "Yes, ma'am," he started to say, but Teyla gave him a look.

"Thank you," she said, bowing slightly. "I look forward to learning your decision."

John waited until they were out of the village and on the path back to the jumper before he said, "I swear to God, McKay, if you fucked up this deal . . ."

"What? What? I was expressing appreciation for the quality of the food," he said, but Teyla swung around and stared at them. "What?" Rodney said again, but in a much smaller voice.

"I believe you well know what," she said. "Colonel Sheppard, when we return for negotiations, I wish Major Lorne to fly."

"I'll fly," John said, embarrassed. "But I'll stay with the jumper."

They returned to Atlantis without further discussion. Their briefing with Weir took only a little time, and they scheduled the return in three of the Phogen's days. Then John went for a long run, thinking over what had happened.

* * *

Nine hundred rounds per minute made a hideous noise, one that John never really got used to, but it peeled through the Enota armored vests like a hot knife through butter, so he loved his P 90 despite the racket. High-powered projectiles trumped energy weapons any day, he believed, watching the Enota fall before him. Rodney lay on the ground next to him, firing as well; his time on the target range had been well spent. "Why does this keep happening?" Rodney shouted at him.

John didn't bother answer because he saw Ronon to their left; the Enota quickly realized they were in their crossfire and fell back. "Thank God," he said, and grabbed Rodney by his pack, pulling him backwards. "Go, go, go!" he shouted, and the four of them were quickly back at the jumper. They were back at the gate within twenty minutes, and five minutes later they were in Atlantis.

"Off the list," John told Elizabeth.

"Bummer," Ronon said. Everyone looked at him.

"Uh, yeah," John concurred. "They didn't care to trade with us. No explanation."

"Fear, I believe," Teyla said, still looking at Ronon.

"Of?" Elizabeth asked.

"The unknown. I have heard that they only reluctantly accept strangers. They are afraid others will draw the Wraith."

"It's a wise fear," Rodney said. "You have to admit, we've all been fooled. I'm thinking the Genii are a good example. Or rather, a bad example."

"You're being understanding about them shooting at you?" John asked.

"Not in the least. I need a good stiff drink to recover, and Carson should check my blood pressure and probably do an EKG. But not appreciating being shot at doesn't mean I don't understand why they were shooting." He studied John. "I'd shoot you myself."

John opened his mouth to respond, but Elizabeth raised a hand, asking for quiet.

"Rodney's right," she said. "A visit to the infirmary is next, then we'll have a more formal debriefing, and begin work on our next attempt to find trading partners and allies." Elizabeth sighed, and John thought she looked tired. "I'm glad you survived. Let's keep up the good work."

"All right, people," John said, and started herding them toward the infirmary.

* * *

"No, no, no, no, no!" Rodney shouted. John stopped and turned. The noise was coming from a room not far from him; he could see light spilling out into the corridor. He debated whether he should intervene, but quickly realized that he was just curious why Rodney was shouting this time. Rodney tended to raise his voice more than any department head should, and certainly more than John believed Rodney's staff deserved, but he also took their precarious situation here in the Pegasus Galaxy very seriously. John sighed, and tapped his fingers against his thigh. When nothing more happened, he decided to let it go.

He hadn't taken more than a few steps when Rodney's voice burst into his headset: "Colonel Sheppard! We're in the, oh, shit, where are we?"

Radek said, "We're in the big room found last week, on the lower levels --"

"I know where you are," John interrupted as he sprinted back and around the corner. He slammed to a stop, bumping into Rodney and Radek. "Jesus."

Water was rising quickly; the three of them backed up. "Shut the door, shut the door," Radek said nervously, tugging at John's arm.

"Where's it coming from? What were you doing?"

"Think it off," Rodney snapped; he spread his arms and pushed the two men back toward the corridor. "Off, off, off; it's draining power, Colonel."

"I'm _thinking_ ," John said. "Stop pushing me." They stood still for a moment and he thought _off_ as loudly and clearly as he could. The water continued to rise. "Shit," he said and started backing up again, pulling Rodney and Radek with him.

"We were not doing anything," Radek said. "We were discussing whether this room should be converted into a storage room for botany. Some of their plants are taking over in the space we've allocated them."

"You didn't touch anything?" John asked Radek.

"I remind you that I do not have the gene, but no, I did not."

"Rodney?"

"No, well, I don't think so. Radek?"

"Maybe that wall? We were talking about building a, what do you call it, the glass room?"

"For the brachysema, yes, it requires a greenhouse."

"Greenhouse, yes, that is the word. John --"

"Rodney, you were thinking _greenhouse_ when you touched the wall?"

"Ah, yes, greenhouse. Radek --"

"Not greenhouse, no, remember? You said 'bell jar,' and I said what is that and you said a book by a dead poet and I said --"

"You said Atlantis would never forgive my pun, and I thought about drowning. Oh, shit."

"Okay, Rodney, think about not drowning. Think _off_."

"I've been thinking off! Off! Off!" Rodney shouted at the wall. The sound of rushing water stopped. "Oh. I _thought_ I'd been thinking off."

"And why would Atlantis listen to you but not the colonel?"

They turned to look at John. "What? I'm thinking off!"

"Not hard enough, obviously." They turned back to study the water. "Is it draining?"

John approached it, walking into it up to his ankles. "You know what? I think this is some kind of greenroom. Look at the things here."

Rodney and Radek peered over his shoulder. "Like planters, only built into the floor," Rodney said.

John waded in deeper. "Look at this," he said, and turned a valve. The water instantly began draining. "So the drainage is just mechanical? One of you must have touched something, to get the water started."

"Maybe," Rodney said, and Radek shrugged.

"We need to tell Dr. Summers. She will like this room," Radek said.

Rodney nodded. "That stuff she's trying to grow in the little lab, in pots of water."

"Yes, the pretty blue spiky flowers. She says they contains aporphine." They grinned at each other.

John said, "Should I be concerned about what aporphine is?"

"Not in the least," Rodney said firmly, so John made a mental note to look it up as soon as he could. "Thank you, Colonel, for your assistance, but I believe we have this under control."

"Aporphine, aporphine, aporphine," John chanted under his breath as he headed out to the pier to meet Ronon for a run, not something he wanted to forget.

* * *

John threw himself backwards onto his bed. It was good to be home, with his surfboard, his pictures, his poster, his big window looking out onto the ocean surrounding Atlantis. The SGC scared him; Earth scared him. He'd been ordered back to the SGC and had spent his entire time there terrified that they were going to relieve him of his duties in Atlantis.

He knew that no one on Earth had ever intended he assume responsibility for the security of Atlantis. No one who looked at his record would put him in charge of cleaning toilets, let alone an entire flying city. With the Daedalus making a return to Earth possible, he'd begun to live in fear of being recalled. He would give up his position and happily peel potatoes, if only they let him remain on Atlantis.

He sighed. This time he'd escaped. General O'Neill was pretty cool, even though his sense of humor freaked John out. And the way he continually forbid Dr. Jackson to spend time in Atlantis increased John's fears; he didn't seem to understand how important it was for some people to be here. Or to be away from Earth; John didn't know Dr. Jackson at all, but in his own case, he knew it was both. He loved Atlantis.

"And you love me, don't you, girl," he murmured, reaching over his head to stroke the wall. A soft chime let him know someone had tracked him down. "Yeah?"

The door slid open to reveal Rodney. "Welcome back."

"Hey. Good to see you. Atlantis still in one piece?"

"One very big piece, yes. How was the trip home?"

"They let me come back; that's all I care about."

"Well, I suppose it would be maudlin of me to admit that I'm glad they let you come back, too."

"Not sure about maudlin, but sappy, yeah."

"Then I never said it." They grinned at each other, and Rodney shifted his feet. "Ah, I have something for you. I know you like Johnny Cash," and he gestured at the poster, "and that there's a movie coming out about him."

"Yeah, that's the only reason I didn't want to come back. It's opened by now."

"Well, check your email."

"Because?"

"Just. You know." Rodney looked a little flustered, so John got up and opened his laptop, booting it up. "I should go."

"No, Rodney, stay. Sit down. Hey, I brought beer back."

"Is that legal?" John raised an eyebrow. "Of course not. It isn't Molson's, is it?"

"Check it out. Open, uh, that box, the, yeah, that one." He watched Rodney pry up the tape and open the box. "See, I packed it in dry ice."

Smoke from the dry ice coiled into the air, and Rodney grinned at him. "Coors, MGD, Molson, Labatt Blue, and Pivovarsky Dvur. What else did you bring back?"

"Can't spoil my fun, Rodney. One surprise at a time. Okay, so I'm looking at my email and shit, but there's a lot of it."

"Something from me, with a huge attachment."

John sorted the email by sender. "Rodney, you really did miss me. What did you do, send me an email a day?"

"I'd like to point out that most of them are summaries of the progress we've made in exploring Atlantis while you're away, successful trading agreements we've come to, and an invitation to the opening of Dr. Summers' new greenhouse."

"And one with a really big attachment. Hey, how --" He turned to look at Rodney, who gulped at his Molson's. "It wasn't even released in theatres when I left Earth."

"Yes, well, these things are always available somewhere. I knew you'd miss it and you certainly don't have the ability to torrent it yourself, so." He shrugged. "It's a welcome home gift."

"Rodney, I don't know what to say."

"No, no, not Windows Media Player, for God's sake. I made sure that everybody's profile includes VLC; launch it and then watch the movie."

John really didn't know what to say, so he just launched VLC and navigated to _Walk the Line_. "Thanks," he said, staring into the monitor. "You, ah, you want to stay and watch?"

"No, I'll let you and Johnny alone for this. Maybe after you've seen it, if you think it's any good."

"Really, thanks. This means a lot."

"Well, Molson's means a lot to me, so let's call it even."

John watched as Rodney left. Then he carried the laptop to the bed and flopped down again. It was good to be home.

* * *

John was cold. Really, really cold. "Cold," he murmured to Rodney, whose face for some reason was right next to his.

"I know, Colonel; that's why we're leaving. Too damned cold here."

"Yup." The sky above them appeared to be bouncing.

"How's he doing?" Carson asked.

"He's cold," Rodney panted, and John realized that he was being carried; Rodney had his head and shoulders and that was Ronon at his feet. "Hurry, dammit."

"Give him to me," Ronon said. They slowed so Rodney could awkwardly shift John to Ronon. John heard himself creak, the air pushed from his lungs.

"Go, go," Rodney said, his hand sliding down John's neck and back. "Carson, I -- be waiting in the gateroom," John heard Rodney say, and realized that Carson wasn't here at all, but back in Atlantis on the radio. He watched Ronon's hair move, and beyond it, the heavy clouds.

"Gonna rain," he tried to say, but Ronon ignored him. He closed his eyes, feeling a little motion sick. When Ronon slowed, he opened them again; Teyla's face appeared hovering above him, an angel stroking his hair. Outside, rain began to fall; he could hear it on the skin of the puddlejumper, and Rodney jumped inside, drenched.

"I'll get us home, Colonel," he heard Rodney say as Ronon settled him in the back, on the padded bench, and Teyla wrapped a thermal blanket around him. "Strap him in; you know I'm not that good a pilot," Rodney called back to them. "Thank God for inertial dampeners."

"Gate's open, McKay; just go," Ronon said, his arms still around John. He was warm and dry and with his team.

"Just go, yes, of course, why didn't I think of that." John tried to tilt his head back so he could see Rodney in the cockpit, but Ronon held him firmly. Rodney continued to mutter to himself, and the inertial dampeners really did dampen, but John was pretty sure they were underway.

"What happened?" he asked Ronon.

"You didn't duck."

Well, that didn't sound good. "Am I shot? Where?" he tried to ask, but he was so tired. Why couldn't he remember? What kind of weapons had they been using? He opened his eyes again when Ronon lifted him up; John hated feeling so helpless, but his arms and legs felt so heavy. He saw they were back in Atlantis, and Carson's worried face was suspended above him. "Hey, doc," he murmured.

"Shh, John," Carson said kindly. "Let's get you to the infirmary. Rodney, tell me what happened."

"What happened? Have you been struck blind? He's been shot with that thing they carried. Teyla, what was that thing?"

The ceiling began to move, lights flashing, and beneath him, John could hear the ocean surge. Subterraneous rivers pulsed, and he smiled at the thought that he was in a floating, flying city. City of dreams.

"Stay with us, Colonel," Carson said. "Rodney --"

"Yes, yes, I've got him. Ronon, can you, yes, okay, Carson."

"Then on three: one, two, _three_."

John felt as though he were flying, the corridor lights zooming above him, and then he was settled in warm blankets, with Carson's face right next to his. "Hi," he tried to say. He realized they'd moved him to the infirmary.

"Shh, lad. Let's take a look at you." Carson's hands were gentle on John's head. "Scanner," he said to someone. "Now close your eyes, John. Let us do our job."

John obediently closed his eyes. "Water," he whispered, meaning _Listen to the water running under and through Atlantis._ Like a high-mountain brook, clean and shining in the sun. Except it was under the city, but John still envisioned white rapids glinting in the sun. He could hear it racing, splashing through the city. Sometimes it was warm, sometimes hot enough to steam, other times it was as cold as the mountain brook. Whatever was needed, Atlantis provided.

He must have slept, because when he next opened his eyes, it was dark and there was a needle stuck into the back of his left hand leading to a drip. Monitors glowed green and beeped softly around him. He remembered that Rodney had told Carson he'd been shot. He felt bruised and battered everywhere, but especially his head, which felt swollen and tender, as if someone had kicked it; he wondered if this was what a migraine felt like.

"Hey," Rodney said.

"Hey. Where'd you come from?"

"Uh, actually I've been here all night; just stepped into the men's room. Let me get Carson."

"No, Rodney, don't --"

"Yes, Rodney, do," Carson said. He leaned over John, smiling affectionately at him. "Your color is better, your temperature normal, this is all good. How's your head?"

"Aches."

"Well, yes, I expect it will. Let me put something in the drip to help with that. Just a minute." Carson left, revealing Rodney standing awkwardly, with his hands behind his back. When Carson returned, he said, "Rodney, either sit down or go to bed."

"I'll just, I'll sit." He sat; John rolled his head carefully to one side to watch him. In the dark, he could barely see Rodney's face, just his eyes and a cheekbone.

"What happened?"

"The usual. Not only were they not interested in becoming allies, they took exception to our presence on the planet. That happens with alarming frequency. I don't think SG1 had such bad luck. They had more freaky luck. This is the Bad Luck Galaxy, I think we should name it. And you're the Bad Luck Colonel."

"That makes you the Bad Luck Astrophysicist," John tried to say, but gave up.

Rodney stood up and walked to him, hands nervously clasping and unclasping the railings to his bed. "You're going to be okay, right?"

"Course," John said, putting his hand over his face.

"John," Rodney whispered, and rested his own hand on top of John's. Together their hands blocked the light, and the weight and heat felt good. "Carson, please. He's miserable. I know you're a geneticist, not a family practitioner, but surely you can do something for him."

"This will help," Carson said. "Lie still, John. Let this take effect."

"What was it?" he asked again.

"A weapon your military would love to get its hands on," Rodney said. "It fired pulsed energy projectiles. Knocked you on your ass, paralyzed you long enough to give your team heart failure, and put you in here for a day."

"Wow. We do need that."

"Go to sleep," Carson said. "Rodney, don't keep him up. Sit or go to your quarters and sleep. I'll be kipping in my office."

"Thanks, Carson," Rodney said. He sat back down and sighed. Carson patted John's hand, the one without a needle, and disappeared. Rodney hooked his foot in another chair and dragged it toward him, then rested both feet on it and crossed his arms. "Sleep," he told John. "I am."

"Go to your room, Rodney," John tried to say, but between the pulse weapon and Carson's drugs, he was again defeated. He watched Rodney for a while, as his eyes closed and he finally fell asleep.

* * *

John finished his run, panting and sweating more than usual. The pulse weapon that had been used on him had left him sore and a bit fragile, not that he'd ever admit that to anyone, especially not to Carson. He leaned against the railing, letting the sea breeze cool him while he caught his breath. He wiped himself down with his tee shirt and re-entered the corridors of Atlantis, walking slowly on wobbly legs. Maybe he'd overdone it.

Ahead of him, he saw light and heard voices. In fact, he heard Rodney's unmistakable voice, and Radek's, and Simpson's, and Summers', and finally Parrish's in the room they'd decided to call a greenhouse, though how an interior room could be a greenhouse, John wasn't sure.

"Nymphaea blue capensis," Rodney was saying over Summers' voice; she insisted, "No, it's nymphaea caerulea."

"Are you sure? How can you be sure? I mean, look at them." There was a silence as they presumably looked at them. John peeked around the corner into the room.

"They're neither," Radek said firmly. "We're in Pegasus Galaxy, yes? So neither."

"Nymphaea caerulea pegasus, then," Dr. Summers said.

"And you think this stuff contains aporphine?" Kavanagh said. "Is that even legal?" All the other scientists stared at him. "Point taken," he said. "We're in the Pegasus Galaxy."

"I've tested it, and it's fine," Summers said. "It's best hot with honey, like this." She handed out little cups and then poured something from one of the oversized thermoses usually kept in the mess hall. "Not too much. Rodney, there's not a hint of citrus in this, but only take one sip for now, okay?"

"Shouldn't one of us stay, ah, _sober_?" Parrish asked.

"My one sip will guarantee that," Rodney said, and gulped his portion down. John leaned against the door and watched as the others sipped.

"Bitter," Radek said, making a face. "More honey, please."

"Me, too," Kavanagh said, holding out his cup.

"I thought you were supposed to smoke it," Simpson said. "It's supposed to make you feel joyful."

"More," Rodney said, holding out his cup. "I don't feel anything, no swelling or odd taste."

Summers poured him a bit more. "Add honey," she reminded him. To Simpson, she said, "I tried smoking it, too, but this has a mellower effect, I think. It takes longer to come onto it, but it's a gentler high."

"I smoked blue lotus on Earth once," Parrish said. "Back in college. A very mellow high." He sipped at his cup. "Seems metaphorical, that it's so bitter and sweet at the same time."

John really wanted to ask for a cup of whatever they were trying, but he was sure they'd be upset at his presence. He stepped back so they couldn't see him, and then slid down to rest his legs while he eavesdropped. If anything went wrong, he'd be there to help.

"Oh, my," Radek said. "I think -- Rodney, I never noticed before how very pointed your nose is." He started to laugh.

"Shut up," Rodney said, predictably, but he started to laugh, too, and then the others, even Kavanagh. John heard a thump; he peered around the corner to see Summers roll backwards, and then the other scientists sat suddenly; they yawned and laughed and smiled at each other. "I hate your pony-tail," Rodney said to Kavanagh. "Why do you wear it?"

"I like it," he said, fondling it.

"You totally should cut it off," Summers said, looking earnestly at it. "Just, _whack_ , it's gone. Really, you'd be much better looking."

"No, I like it," Miko said, and everyone turned to look at where she was lying on the ground. "Very unusual in Atlantis. Don't lose it."

"No, I wouldn't," Kavanagh said, clutching it and scooting away from Summers and Rodney.

"Name, name, I've forgotten your name," Rodney said to Summers.

"Summers."

"Not your surname; your given name."

"Oh, God, Rodney, please don't make me tell you. It's a form of child abuse."

"I know what it is," Radek said, setting down his cup and rubbing his eyes. "She's right. Child abuse. Bad name for a girl."

"What? Kevin? Johannes?"

Summers shook her head, then put a hand to her forehead. "Dizzy." She lay down.

"Your name is not Dizzy. I'll just look in your file," Rodney said, lying down with his head in Radek's lap.

"Aphrodite," Radek said, stroking Rodney's hair. "Her parents named her Aphrodite."

"Shit, I'm sorry," Rodney said. "I promise never to call you anything but Summers."

"Thank you, Dr. McKay," she said, sighing. "I'll never call you an asshole again."

John smiled to himself; he bet she did, too, despite her promise. He sat for a while longer, until they started to wake up again. "Very nice," Radek said. "I think we remember this for next time."

"Good work, Summers," Rodney said, yawning. "Radek, gain some weight. Your knees are bony."

"Get up, Rodney. We have work, remember?"

"God, yes. Real work, not super-secret testing of an empathogen."

"Empathogen," Kavanagh said. "Em-paaaaath-ogen."

"I think you drank too much tea," Summers said. "Okay, everybody up. Let's clean up before someone finds us and assumes we had an orgy."

"Ick," Miko said very clearly, and then giggled.

When John saw they were all on their feet again, tidying the greenhouse, discussing the alkaloids in the caerulea, whether they should try smoking it next time, or adding it to brownies, which Rodney voted for, he silently left, smiling to himself. He wondered if Rodney would give him a brownie if he threatened to tell Elizabeth about the caerulea.

* * *

"Oh, dear," Rodney said, gritting his teeth. Teyla bit her lip, and nodded, leaning forward over the table. They were alone for the moment, seated in a little cubicle at one end of the tavern where they'd just had dinner, the leftovers still on the table.

Ronon farted, long and loud. "Ah," he said, and farted again.

"Jesus, Ronon," John said, but he was both miserable and envious. "Is that permissible where you're from?"

Ronon farted again.

"Okay, I give up," Rodney said, shifting to one side so he too could bleat out a fart.

"Rodney!" John said, but he started to laugh, and then lost control and, "Oops," he said. Rodney laughed at him, farting, which made John fart harder, and Ronon trumpeted again.

"Oh!" Teyla said. "Excuse me, please," she called over her shoulder as she scrambled out of the room, making squeaking noises with each step.

"Okay, we need to find out what food gave us wind and bring as much back as possible," Rodney said. "We can power the stargate with it." He farted, a juicy bubbling sound. "Seriously," Rodney continued. "Imagine everyone in Atlantis breaking wind. If we could funnel it into wind turbines, think of the kilowatts we could generate. It's the ultimate renewal resource, a mega-watt utility-scale system."

"How serious are you?" John asked.

"Not in the least," he said. "What did we eat?"

"The freta," Ronan said, pointing at bowl containing the soggy remnants of what John had thought was over-cooked cabbage. "Well-known for this."

"But it was good," Rodney protested, poking at it with a spoon.

"Please don't eat any more of it," John said. "Seriously. Leave it alone."

"Is there anything in our packs for this?" Rodney asked. "A remedy for flatulence?"

"Celery seeds," Ronon said. "Cider vinegar. Ginger root."

"Oh, all of which I'm sure you carry with you."

Ronon opened his pack and pulled out a small bag, then poured a small pile of brownish seeds into Rodney's hand. "Chew," he said, and popped a handful into his mouth.

John put his own hand out for some of the seeds. His stomach was cramping a little, and he felt bloated. "No good will come out of this," he told them, folding himself in half before he could start chewing on the seeds.

"I think it'll come out all right in the end," Rodney said, chewing the seeds maniacally. "Oh." He stood up and almost ran out the door.

"I think," John said, and tried to rise. "Oh." Ronon helped John up and out the door. "Bush, bush, I need a very private bush," John said.

"You should have asked for the seeds sooner," Ronon said, but obediently half-carried him away from the building into the dark countryside.

"Yeah, here, I'll be fine, go, go someplace you can't hear me, okay?" Ronon looked at him. John paused with his hands at his belt. "Go!" he ordered.

"Not over here!" Rodney shouted in the dark. "Go somewhere else!"

Ronon looked confused, scratched his head, and walked away, trailing farts around the building. In the distance, John heard Teyla shout, but he was too relieved to pay any attention to his team.

"No more freta!" Rodney shouted. "Never! I don't care what they offer!"

"Shut up, Rodney," John shouted, glad it was dark. He hoped the inhabitants of this village and the owners of the tavern were a forgiving people.

* * *

John kept his P 90 trained on the assholes. Next to him, Ronon loomed, holding his energy weapon on them, and beyond her, Teyla stood, feet apart, arms extended, her pistol aimed at their leader's head, just behind his left ear. "This is a stalemate," he said.

"No, it's not," John said, not looking at him. "It's a fucking massacre. Now, how many more of your people do you want to see die before you end this and give back Dr. McKay?"

"It's not that simple --" he started, but Ronon fired, and the man next to him dropped. Blood pooled behind his head; the leader scooted back his foot so it wouldn't touch his shoe.

"I believe it is just that simple," John said.

"Colonel," Lorne said.

"Welcome, Major. We're about to kill a lot of people; did you bring plenty of ammunition?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" Lorne said enthusiastically; John wondered how much was an act and how much Lorne really wanted to kill these fuckers.

"All right, then. One last time," John said. The others' faces turned toward him, their eyes enormous. Some were weeping, others looked furious. One or two looked resigned.

But one was pointing at something. Trying to be discreet, but clearly pointing, even tipping his head to John's left. They were in an enormous warehouse, filled with shelving loaded with unlabeled boxes. They guy pointed again; was Rodney in a box? Had they stuffed him in a box? What, were they going to ship him someplace?

"Stand up," he said to the leader, whose name he'd never caught. "Stand up, Goddammit!" Ronon jerked the guy to his feet, and John saw from the corner of his eye that he stepped into the blood. "Ronon, shoot his leg."

"No!" the guy screamed, but Ronon calmly shot him through the right calf. He fell into the blood, his own mixing with it. "I had to, I had to, just as much as you, don't you see?"

John shot rounds over the others' heads, so bits of the ceiling came flaking down, a macabre snow mixing with the blood on the stained cement floor. "Everybody out," he shouted. Some turned and ran, others backed away, but the one who'd been pointing moved very slowly until he was standing in front of a rack of shelving. He pointed again, then turned and ran.

When the warehouse was empty except for his team, the wounded leader, and the dead, John worked his way around the blood and bodies to the shelving. He tapped on the boxes, but they sounded full, and they were all too small. Slinging his P 90 behind him, he pulled out a box from the lower shelf; behind it was an opening. "Lorne, you're with me. Ronon, don't let that guy go anywhere."

Lorne helped John shift the boxes to the floor so they could slide the shelving unit away. "McKay!" John shouted into the opening. "Rodney! It's me!" He listened intently, looking at Lorne, who shook his head. "We're going in."

"Colonel, Major, wait," someone said, and Parrish rushed up with two enormous flashlights.

"Bring him back," he told them. "He's such a pain in the ass, but Atlantis wouldn't be Atlantis without him."

John thought those were the truest words he'd heard in months. He nodded, grasped his weapon more firmly, and turned on the flashlight.

The tunnel was damp, with mold growing up the sides and spider webs clinging from the ceiling. Rodney would hate this, John thought, moving slowly. Despite the size of the lights Parrish had given them, he couldn't see very far ahead; it was as though the darkness and moisture sucked up all the light. They came to a T-junction; around the corner and to the right was a cheap wooden door. He and Lorne stared at it for a minute, then John kicked it in.

On the floor, bound, gagged, and blindfolded, lay a sodden Rodney McKay. His legs and arms were tied together behind him, so that his legs were bent at the knee. "Jesus, Rodney," John said. He handed Lorne his weapon and knelt on the sticky floor. "Hey, buddy," he said quietly, resting his hand on Rodney's carotid artery. A solid thumping reassured him, but Rodney's skin was cold and papery. Dehydrated, John knew. He gently pushed the blindfold off Rodney; those blue eyes, damp and red, caught the light Lorne held and stared accusingly up at John. "It's me," John said, as he removed the gag. It was wet and gluey in his hands. Rodney's face was blue with stubble, his hair matted, his uniform stained, and the smell of him assaulted John's nose as he cut through the knots holding Rodney.

At last, he was able to say, "Can you stand? Can you get up? Lean on me, okay?" as he got Rodney to his feet. Rodney swayed and his eyes rolled up, but John had him firmly and wasn't going to let him hit that disgusting floor again. "I've got you," he whispered into Rodney's ear, and then, to his surprise, kissed the top of his head. Rodney opened his eyes and looked steadily at John. "Say something," John said. "Yell at me. Kick my ass for taking so long."

Rodney looked as cranky as John remembered. "Water," he said, so John pulled out his canteen and helped him sip at it; Rodney leaned heavily against him. "Go," he said.

Lorne stepped back into the hallway for a moment. "All clear," he shouted. For a moment more, John stood with Rodney pressed against him, his body as chill as a corpse. He hugged Rodney tightly, their faces touching, Rodney's sour breath and body odor bitter reminders of how he'd been treated these last three days. "Colonel? Should I send a team?"

"No," Rodney called, his voice hoarse and breaking as he pulled away from John. "We're coming." John stared into his eyes and lightly touched Rodney's face. He kept one arm around Rodney's waist as he helped him walk out of his prison.

When they reached the warehouse, John pulled his sidearm out and shot the leader in the head. Then they left, taking Rodney home.

* * *

"You know what I miss?" John asked Rodney as he barged into John's quarters. "The sound of a car door slamming. You know that _thump_ of a well-built door being shut?"

"What? Here, I brought you some brownies."

"Yeah, the sound of a car door. Because it's the sound of escape. Of getting away from everything. Going really fast to someplace really cool."

"Faster than a stargate? Cooler than another galaxy?"

"Okay, you have a point."

"Brownie?"

John studied them. He'd bet good money that they had aporphine in them. He looked up at Rodney's face. "Have a seat. Tell me why you're bringing me brownies. Seems unlike you."

"Unlike me? Colonel, I'm wounded." Rodney set the paper plate down on John's night table and sat in the only chair; John was lying on the bed watching _Walk the Line_ again on his computer.

"You never bring me sweets. You never bring anybody sweets. I bet you've never brought Colonel Carter sweets."

"Colonel Carter doesn't need sweets."

"And I do?"

"Um. Can I have one of your brownies?"

"I'd prefer you wait." John put his hand over the brownies, protecting them from Rodney. "Have you had any yet?"

"Oddly, no. They're just out of the oven. Summers and Parrish made them."

John studied Rodney's face. He was slightly red, maybe from rushing over, maybe from embarrassment. "Rodney, are you trying to seduce me?"

"What?" Rodney jumped up. "No, Colonel, I -- I'm just -- do you want me to try to seduce you?"

"Are you?"

"No."

"Would you tell me if you were?"

"Ah. Well. Actually, no. Not if you asked."

"Which I just did."

"Yes, you did. But no, of course not. Don't be ridiculous. Why would I try to seduce you?"

John stood up and stepped closer to Rodney. "You're sweating."

"I should go."

"No, don't. We haven't had any brownies yet."

"Are you going to?"

"If you want, yeah. Just not right now."

Rodney sat abruptly, looking up at John. He definitely was redder in the face, John thought. "Summers and Simpson say they're very good brownies," he said after a minute. John pulled the chair Rodney sat in toward the bed, then sat on the bed so their knees bumped. "Summers is a good cook," Rodney continued a little breathlessly. "Though I'm not sure if Parrish is." John leaned forward, looking into Rodney's eyes. "She also makes this tea . . ." Rodney said, his voice trailing off. John leaned closer. He was teasing Rodney, but at the same time, it felt good to sit so close to him, to feel the warmth of Rodney's body, to study his face. "John," Rodney said softly, and leaned a centimeter closer.

I could kiss you, John thought, and it wasn't shocking or weird at all. It seemed easy. They'd done everything else by now -- bathed together in ritual ceremonies, performed the most intimate functions in front of each other out of necessity on uninhabited worlds, slept bundled together with inadequate shelter, fed each other by hand, comforted each other when injured, stood guard over each other when unconscious, saved each other's lives time and time again. What was a kiss between two people so bound?

John kissed him. Rodney kissed him back, reaching for John, pulling at him, moaning into his mouth, eating him up. John had been prepared: this was Rodney, who never did anything by half measures. He tugged, and Rodney almost fell out of the chair and onto John, pushing him back onto his bed. "Okay, yes, I was going to try to seduce you, what gave it away?" Rodney whispered into his ear, making the hair on the back of John's neck rise and his skin prickle with excitement.

"The drugged brownies," he whispered back, licking Rodney's lips and into his mouth. "Which we are so going to eat after this."

"God, I love chocolate," Rodney said, grinding into John's hips, rubbing against him, groaning with pleasure. John thought his dick was on fire with friction; it felt so good. "Food of the gods."

"Yeah, theobromine," John moaned, "and aporphine."

"How the -- oh, oh, Christ," Rodney said. "Get your goddamn clothes off. If we're going to do this, let's do it right."

That sounded good to John. They stripped, and John thought again how inevitable this seemed after all they'd been through. "Remember farting on that planet?"

"Remember the jam?"

"Remember swimming, but it was so salty it left us coated with brine?"

"Remember kneeling outside that temple for half a day while the priests decided whether or not we could come in to see if that was a ZPM?"

"Remember when those assholes kidnapped you?" He stared into Rodney's eyes, frozen in memory for a moment. Rodney stopped undressing and stared back. John remembered how blue his eyes had been in the flashlight, how pale and cold and quiet he'd been.

"I remember," Rodney said, quiet again for a moment. He dropped his eyes, but almost instantly raised his chin and looked defiantly at John, undressing again. His bravery made John smile, and his heart clutch in his chest.

By now they were naked, and John pulled Rodney back onto the bed. He ran his hands down Rodney's body. "I can't believe we haven't done this yet, after everything that's happened."

"I'm sorry I tried to drug you first," Rodney said. "I really, really wanted to do this, but I didn't think you would sober."

"I can't believe someone so smart can be so dumb."

"How did you know about the aporphine?"

"Atlantis loves me," John whispered, mouthing Rodney's throat, biting at his chin. "Everybody loves me."

"You're such an arrogant shit," Rodney said, then kissed John again, harder, as if making a point. He slid his hand between them and grabbed John's dick. "Finally," he said. " _Finally_."

"Yeah," John said. Rodney pulled harder at John's dick, and John heard himself groan and gasp. "I want -- I want you to --" he panted.

"Yeah, me, too," Rodney said, and they maneuvered awkwardly until Rodney could suck John into his mouth, and John was staring at Rodney's dick, darkly red and swollen. "Suck!" Rodney demanded, then put his mouth back on John. John sucked; Rodney's wasn't the first dick he'd had in his mouth, but it was the first in years and years. Around him, Atlantis shuddered, or maybe that was him, but he felt settled into someplace new. Very fast and very cool, he thought, remembering the slam of car doors, the whoosh of the event horizon, the soundless thrill of a puddlejumper's rise to his silent command.


End file.
